Love is All Around
by retina burn
Summary: A series of unrelated Outlaw Queen one-shot prompt response fics (from Tumblr), with varying degrees of romance, angst, and smut. Each story exists in its own universe/timeline, separate from the others. Enjoy!
1. Drunk Kiss

Author's note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews for previous fics, I'm so appreciative of all the feedback! Hope you enjoy these little one shots!

_Prompt: drunk kiss_

Some nights, when missing Henry burns her heart from the inside out, she seeks the night and the silence of the stars, indulging in drink right there in her garden. The castle is quiet because despite the threat of Zelena, nearly everyone else can still manage to tame the beasts stalking their dreams, just enough to sleep. There is no such solace awaiting her.

She is alone with the things she's done.

She is alone with memory, pain pinned to her heart like a tapestry.

Before she knows it, she's finished most of her scotch, and decides she should try to sleep. Magic could return her to her room in an instant, but though she's a bit unsteady, she wants to walk back, breathing in the cool night air, wandering the lonely corridors of memory.

Everyone should be asleep.

Which is why she's surprised to suddenly bump into the thief.

"What are you…doing…" The acerbic edge normally present in her tone is gone, she's too sad and inebriated tonight, and it's a bad combination, because his hands are on her forearms, steadying her gently.

"Had a bit of trouble sleeping, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be awake, clearly. Are you alright?"

She must reek of alcohol, so it should be obvious that she's not, but she just looks up into his eyes, studying the shadows playing on his face, his lips shining out like a beacon.

What would those lips taste like…

"I'm fine," she insists faintly.

"Allow me to assist you back to your chambers, Your Majesty…"

She's thought about him, for months she's thought of his kindness, his annoying persistence in checking on her. He'll toss her fire right back at her, but his eyes hold such softness regardless of what she says.

Tonight, she's just lonely and uninhibited enough to let those idle thoughts roam free.

"Wait," she insists, bringing him closer, drunkenly fusing their lips together and refusing to feel ashamed of the moan his responding kiss pulls from her.

She should stop, she should push him away, and she _would_, if she were in her right mind. But this is Regina stripped bare, her heart crying out for what it wants, and for tonight, just for tonight, she allows it.


	2. Nap

_**Prompt: A Nap**_

* * *

She hasn't been sleeping. He can't be the only one who's noticed, though he's probably one of the few people other than Snow White who would dare to tell her that. He can already anticipate her response, the sharp edges of her voice cutting at him before he's even said a word. It does nothing to deter him, though. He's pushed her to the very edge, asking after her, insisting he help with things, stoking her ire enough that he almost expects to feel hot flames licking at his skin when _thief_ and _go away_ inevitably launch from her lips right at their intended target.

But in between those insults and glares she's so fond of tossing at him, Robin catches a glimpse of the light and softness beneath the hard walls she's put around her heart, beneath the darkness she seems so fond of keeping, likely because it's all she's known for so long. It's not so easy to hide pain when you leave your shadows behind. He understands that. But he'll keep trying.

Today, without any other preamble, he offers, "I can make an herbal tea that should help you relax. You need the rest, otherwise what could you possibly hope to do against the witch? You've no strength left."

"You expect me to agree to that?"

"Why not?"

"A _tea _made with…berries and twigs and dirt? I'll be _ill, _is that what you're hoping to accomplish?"

He draws in a measured breath, sitting beside her. She's been in the library all morning, reading books that are far more suited for someone Roland's age, which leads him to believe she's thinking of her son again, perhaps transported to the memory of laying beside him, his head tucked to her chest as they read together in those perfect moments before sleep beckons and little ones are transported to their dream worlds. He would seek the same comfort if he was parted from Roland, and that sympathetic ache for what she's lost is yet another reason he remains indefatigable in his decision to be there for her in every way possible.

"The berries would be freshly picked, the dirt lends a smooth flavor to the tea, and the twigs, I think you'll find, are really quite tasty. Though I always pick them out after the tea's finished brewing, of course," he teases with a dimpled grin, and he's quite surprised to see the barest ghost of a smile on her lips before she ducks her head down to the open book in her lap.

After a moment's pause, she closes the book, setting it aside for now, and folding her hands together tensely in her lap.

"I have bad dreams, dreams about…him, about…my past…"

Robin allows the words a moment to rest in the air before he tentatively reaches for one of her hands.

"If you'll allow me, Your Majesty…"

She lifts her head, regarding him with a wary look that seems to say, _Don't make me regret this_.

He takes that look, and her lack of protest, as silent acquiescence, and carefully coaxes one of her hands into his own, cradling it and beginning to stroke her wrist lightly.

"I can't help with the dreams at the moment. Often the only thing that _can _help is an abundance of better days and memories to replace those thoughts. But you're quite tense, and I _can_ help with that." She may not stay asleep very long, but he can ease her into it, he's sure.

She drags an inhale heavily into her lungs, belaboring it, but her hand begins to slowly relax in his grip. "I miss just…hugging him, hearing him call me _mommy_."

"I wish it were simple to return him to you. Were it in my power to do so, I would."

"…why?" He notices her voice is softer, and given how very little sleep she's gotten lately, he's not surprised that this gentle touch is lulling her closer to the edge of sleep.

"I think you deserve to be happy."

His thumb moves across her palm now, and her head comes to rest against his shoulder.

"I don't," she refutes, on the edge of a whisper.

"I'd be only too glad to remind you everyday until you can believe it of your own accord," he says, his thumb massaging her wrist now.

She mumbles something incoherent, and he lets just silence exist between them while his fingers move across her skin. When her head begins to loll against his shoulder, he presses the softest of kisses to her palm, and then ever so carefully stands up, lifting her into his arms.

"Robin…"

It doesn't escape his notice that _thief _is not the word she's chosen in her sleepy and more vulnerable state, and he smiles as her head naturally burrows in against her neck. Unable to quell the urge to kiss her forehead, he moves with his precious cargo down the corridor to her chambers.

"I'm here, Regina," he promises.

_I'm here_.

And that is where he intends to remain, with her, wherever she may be.


	3. Massage

_**Prompt: Massage**_

**Note:** This story is in no way related to the previous stories, it exists as a standalone fic prompt response in its own universe.

* * *

"She's sleeping?"

"Finally," Regina nods, emitting a soft sigh as she crosses one leg beneath her, sitting down in front of Robin on their bed and rubbing at her neck.

Their daughter, Amelia, has just started teething, which has meant many sleepless nights lately. Wordlessly, Robin reaches out to push Regina's hand away from her neck, replacing it with his own and rubbing at that one spot he knows always flares up when she's tense.

"Hopefully she'll be merciful and allow us a few hours of rest," he smiles, though it's cushioned with a weary sigh. "Poor love."

Regina nods, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm almost…_too _tired to even feel tired. Is that possible?"

"Unfortunately," he nods to himself, both hands now on her neck. There's that one muscle on the right side, it's so tight and not even beginning to budge, so with one hand anchored there, his other hand follows the trail, thumb moving downward to her right shoulder, seeking out the source of the tension. It's all connected, he knows. He's rubbing as he goes, of course, and pleased to hear his love moaning in pleasure as the tension is gradually released.

_There_.

Just beneath her right shoulder blade, he finds a terrible knot, and knowing he'll need both hands to untangle it, he kisses her neck, then shifts his hand away to focus all of his strength where it needs to be. By now, he knows precisely how much pressure to exert, when to release and give her a moment, and then dig in again. He listens to her, the silent way she speaks and just breathes, her body like clay to be molded - taken apart to release the tension, and then rebuilt again under his reverent hands. She is treasure to be marked and cherished, and even as he works at the knot, he's pressing soft kisses to her spine, every part of him needing to affirm his love for her.

"I think you should just come to my office twice a day and do this for about an hour," Regina murmurs softly.

"And _I _happen to think you work too much. You wouldn't have all this tension if you took time off now and again. The town will survive without you for a few hours at lunchtime, love."

She snorts a laugh. "I think you have ulterior motives, Robin."

His lips press to the side of her neck tenderly, and he softly gasps, feigning offense. "What could I possibly want with you for an hour in the middle of the day?"

He can almost feel her smiling coyly. "I think you should tell me. In vivid detail."

The knot is nearly gone, but to satisfy both their needs while he works at the last of the tension, Robin presses an open-mouthed kiss to the rapid pulse at her neck, sucking enough to leave a mark, which he immediately soothes with his tongue. He smiles as she hums, and finally his hands move away from her shoulder, confident that she should be in much less pain now.

Falling back against the pillows, Robin takes her with him, wanting her tucked against his chest as dips his fingers into her. "_Tell _you, or demonstrate?" He kisses the words to her skin, his index and middle finger making circles around her clit.

He's already satisfied when she's unable to respond except to moan, and a dimpled grin nuzzles at her skin, lips lazily dragging down the impossibly soft column of her throat.

"_This_," he breathes out, gradually speeding up the movement of his fingers. And when she moans his name again, he adds, "Precisely so I can hear my name uttered more beautifully than it has ever been before."

When she moans his name like that, it takes root in his heart, takes his breath away, and he wants nothing more than to push her over the edge, to know that she's surrounded by warmth and immeasurable pleasure.

"_Robin_…" She hisses now, and that flush to her cheeks, the way her hip jerks up against his other hand, tells him she's close.

He thinks about slowing down, teasing her as they both enjoy sometimes, delaying her pleasure so those nerve endings dance and delight in the tender fire of burgeoning oblivion. But he can't this time, he has to coax it from her, has to feel her, to know that after a day heavy with enough tension to tangle her nerves, he alone - with touch, with _love _\- can unsnarl those taut nerves and soften her.

"My love," he murmurs the words with a huskiness that denotes how much pleasure he derives just from doing this to her. He loves her utterly, and when words are not quite enough, can never fully convey or explain the depth of what he feels for her, there's _this, _there's caressing his love into her folds.

Her hips jerk again, then her body stiffens as she gasps in rapid succession, her breathing uneven, pulse thundering against where his lips are pressed to her neck. Her left hand flails a bit, blindly seeking something to hold onto, and he shifts his free hand from her hip downward to lace their fingers together, reveling in the loud moan of his name from her lips as she climaxes and then goes limp in his arms. For a moment, she doesn't move, and then her thumb strokes back and forth across his knuckles before she tugs his hand up to her lips, kissing his palm, then pressing it to her heart. His other hand comes to rest against her stomach as they entwine.

But she's had a long day, and he knows the heaviness in her limbs isn't just from residual pleasure; she's _exhausted_, and he shifts after a short while, urging her to lay against his chest, knowing as soon as he begins to stroke her hair, she isn't long for this moment. Sure enough, less than five minutes later, she's completely out, her hand curled against his chest, her lips slightly parted as she snores softly.

A silent chuckle falls from his lips as he watches her breathe, pleased by how utterly relaxed and content she looks, and pleased as well that she's resting so deeply.

"Oh, how I love you," he sighs happily, pressing his lips to her forehead.

A few hours later, he's pulled awake when their baby cries again, and he swiftly disentangles from Regina, kissing her forehead before moving to lift Amelia carefully into his arms, hushing her with his voice pitched low. "It's alright, my love. I have you."

She immediately tucks her head to his shoulder, and he rubs her back, breathing a little easier as her cries dwindle into soft whimpers; he hates to hear her so upset.

In just a little while, she's falling asleep against him as well, just like her mother. And he could do this forever, would _gladly_ do this forever, holding his loves, keeping them safe and warm as peaceful dreams carry them away, and then return them to his arms to start anew.


	4. A Frightened Kiss

_**Prompt: A Frightened Kiss**_

* * *

There's a rhythm to his breathing; she's begun to notice since her vigil began yesterday morning, and it's troubling now when the air rattles in his lungs, a raspy sound emanating from the base of his throat. She doesn't need to be here, there are others better suited to caring for the sick and dying, people like Snow White.

But the moment Robin's men had carried his limp form back to the castle, telling them that he'd been hit with a poisoned arrow, Roland rushed to her side, his wide, brown eyes glistening with tears and his lower lip quivering as he entreated her:

_Please save papa, Regina…_

She has endured countless queries through the years, a litany of requests for this or that, for her to spare someone, to be merciful, to help, to rethink her decisions. She has never wavered in the choices she's had to make. And here, now, why should she bother with the thief? What good is he to her?

One single look into Roland's brown eyes, however, and she is felled by the devastation knotting his features with a sorrow no child should ever know.

If she's honest with herself - and she can't afford to be right now - she's doing this for herself as much as for Roland.

How did she let this _happen_? When did the _thief _start to mean something to her?

His pale, supine form trembles with the effort it takes to draw in a breath, and the pain she feels just watching the struggle he must endure is _precisely why _she has never allowed him to mean anything to her. She cannot abide this affection, cannot risk the brittle bones of her heart breaking when this thief she has deigned to allow entrance at the vulnerable edges of her soul passes from this world, into the shadows where she cannot follow.

Since his collapse yesterday, since doleful brown eyes pleaded with her to save this man, she has pledged silently to herself to do whatever she can to save him. This thief. This…

_Robin_.

He is Robin. Just for today, just for these hours stiff and heavy with life trying to persist, to cling from one second passing into the next, to bring this man safely into a new day so that he might live a long life with his son, as he should. She can say that, it's _safe _to say that. He deserves to see his son grow up, to be the one guiding him through life. Acknowledging _that _does not commit her to tangling her fate with his, dooming her to eternal torment should he give his last breath to the air between them, leaving her to always wonder what it might have felt like to instead feel that breath softly cradling her lips, to hear that breath giving her name back to her with the reverence she knows he would possess.

Those are dangerous thoughts she wants to expunge from her memory altogether, but they lay in wait, unwilling to be pushed aside, yet for now they do not have the power to destroy her should anything happen to him. If she doesn't succeed, if he dies today, she's still safe, her sadness only linked to the burning question of, _What if?_

It can't go beyond that.

He's dozing in and out, and she's managed to help him swallow at least some of the potion she brewed to counteract the poison wreaking havoc on his body. The wound itself hasn't been easy to heal, either, likely because of the poison.

"Robin…"

Just today.

"_Robin_," she murmurs, more urgently, trying to coax his head to raise up a bit, to ingest more of her potion.

His eyes seem as though they must be giant boulders to lift, and she catches the barest glimpse of pale blue as he tries to be lucid for her.

"...Regina…"

_Just today_, she'll allow it.

"You need to drink this," she firmly urges, holding the cup to his lips, tilting it back for him. If they're lucky, he'll manage _all _of it this time. She'd had to stop an hour ago when sleep tugged him away and the potion began to dribble from his lips.

A few sips at a time. She's heartened when his eyes lift open a bit more, and his hand actually reaches up weakly to press against hers, trying to help drink it himself.

"Sorry…" he mumbles, after another sip is swallowed.

"For getting hurt? Good. You should be," she answers gruffly, and she's fully aware of why she's said it, why she bristles. It's _his fault_ for making her feel anything more than contempt for him, for slowly endearing himself to her, and then putting himself in harm's way like this.

It's infuriating when he smiles, because she feels a mixture of frustration and relief. He can't have missed the irritation in her voice, yet he smiles anyway. How he can muster up the motivation when the situation is so dire is beyond her.

His hand remains against hers, despite his grip being almost feather light, like he can barely hold onto her at all. After two more sips of the potion, his eyes start to close again, and Regina's free hand anchors to the back of his head, forcing him to stay upright even when his hand falls away from hers.

"Robin, _open your eyes_," she demands with an acrid tone, promising that to defy her request would incur a fate far worse than death, and that seems enough for him to at least part his lips, eyes fluttering just slightly. She takes her chance, pouring the rest of the potion down his throat, and then with one hand on the back of his head, her other hand - now free of the cup - cradles his cheek.

He's dying, and she's trying to pull him back from the jagged precipice, back from the shadows, her thumb stroking over his cheek, the corner of his lips as her mind considers the very worst of thoughts: kiss him, hold him, _tell him_ that he means something. He won't remember it, she's fairly certain, so there's little risk in that regard, but the memory will remain with her if he lives. And what will she do in the hours and days after this, after she allows affections to take root?

It's been a battle nearly everyday, convincing herself of lies she's so carefully constructed: _You don't care about him at all_.

But the _truth_ comes when she stares at his face - alarmed by the pallor and his uneven breaths - and stymies her attempt to draw in a breath.

_You care. Too much._

"Please," she whispers, hoping he doesn't even hear.

He's going limp again, and she guides him back to the pillows, gently moving her hand away from the back of his head. Pushing at his tunic, she uncovers the wound at his shoulder, the mark where the arrow went in still an angry red as her hand hovers, releasing magic she hopes will heal it more. With her free hand, she strokes his hair tenderly, thumb soothing his forehead fraught with tension, pleased when his face slackens beneath her touch and it seems to ease him.

It takes a significant amount of magic for his wound to close up, and when it's as healed as it can possibly be until the poison is fully dispelled from his system, she pulls her hand back and cradles his face now, soothing her hand through his hair and down his cheek.

A few moments pass, and his breath grows ever more shallow, lips slightly tinged blue, and as each breath becomes more of an impossibility, angry tears fill Regina's eyes.

"You _can't _do this, Robin. Not now, not-"

The heel of her right hand gets pressed to her eyes, vainly trying to dry up the tears as she feels her heart losing itself to the dark along with him.

He _stops_ breathing, and a choked sound falls from her lips as she stares at him.

"I knew you would...do this to me. I _never_ wanted this, you're so selfish, and I…" It's hard to speak, hard to breathe.

_And I - I love you_.

Closing her eyes and letting the tears fall, Regina's hands cup to his face as she leans in to kiss his lips. She's terrified he won't wake, that his chest won't lift with the blessing of another breath, that there's nothing she can do. She always loses the people she loves, and this time won't be any different. Why should it?

Her lips retreat hastily from his, like she's a foolish girl caught being overly whimsical, and she can't bear to even look, to see if he's breathing again. He spares her the trouble by gasping softly a moment later, eyes opening to half-mast and focusing on her as his chest heaves with newly welcomed air. Regina feels her muscles loosen when the color returns to his lips.

He seems a little more cognizant, looking over at the cup of water at his bedside, and Regina helps him to drink.

"Regina…?"

"Your body is healing," she explains, and she knows her eyes are probably still red-rimmed, but she won't bother explaining unless he asks her directly.

There's a slight nod from him as he drinks down all of his water, then falls back to the pillows, wiping at his sweaty brow. "I feel so warm…"

"I gave you a potion to counteract the poison, but your body still has to do some of the fighting. You'll probably have a fever for the next few hours." Each word, each breath is carefully measured, refusing to betray the turbulent emotions warring for dominance inside of her. She wants to kiss him again in sheer relief, wants to know what it feels like when he kisses her back.

But those thoughts are disrupted when he begins to tug a bit at his tunic. Thin though it is, it seems he's still too hot to wear it, and though Regina sighs softly, she reaches out to help him take it off, setting it aside on the small table near his bed.

"Roland…" Robin's half-closed eyes suddenly widen with worry.

"He's fine, I promise. When you're feeling a little better, I'll bring him in." She didn't want to scare him, not until she knew for sure her potion would even work.

Nodding again, Robin's head turns towards her, and his right hand reaches out, fingers lacing with hers. "Thank you," he murmurs, tugging her hand to his lips, apparently not caring how she'll react. His eyes close and his arms falls back down to the bed, his arm upturned. And that's when she sees it, the _lion tattoo_.

Blessedly, he's already fallen back to sleep, his slightly parted lips a sure sign he's resting deeply, and Regina retracts her hand as though she's been burned, her entire body tense, a storm of emotions surging through her, stifling the air in her lungs as she stands up unsteadily, moving quickly to the door. She actually leaves, steps outside of his room, shuts the door, and just stands there, one hand rubbing at her brow.

She wonders if that's why her kiss worked, if there's such a deep connection between them that it pulled him back, if the love she knows she feels for him is beyond what she's fathomed. She's not ready to feel this, to accept that he's her soulmate, that she _nearly lost him_, and that he's her second chance; the man she's been fighting to push away at every turn, because it's so easy to fall with him, and there's no going back.

As she stands there trying to sort through the clutter of dueling emotions, Roland makes his way over to her, gently taking the hand dangling loosely at her side. "Regina? Can I see papa?"

She'd wanted to wait a bit longer, and _now_, especially, she doesn't want to go back into that room. But Roland looks so tired and scared, and she can grant him this. Nodding, she lifts him gently into her arms, stroking his tousled curls a bit. After so many months, she's come to love this little boy, too, and it's much easier to admit to that.

"He's sleeping, but his body is healing, he's getting better," she explains, and Roland nods along, listening intently.

Carrying him back inside, Regina helps Roland down onto the bed, her heart aching in her chest as the boy crawls beneath the blankets, lifting his father's limp arm and draping it around him so he can curl against his chest. "I'm here, papa," he whispers, and Regina bites at her lip to keep from crying.

She _can't _leave now, not with Roland here, not when something might happen again. Tentatively, she reaches for his arm, fingers stroking over the lion tattoo as if to probe it. She feels alternately terrified and filled with questions, with doubt. Today is proof enough of what happens if she gets close to people, and just because he's beaten death today doesn't mean he'll be so lucky again. When he's better, she knows what she has to do, for both their sakes. She can't _lose _him, so she can't love him.

But those are lies and they'll get old, and she knows the truth as she holds his hand, unable to make herself let go.

She can't lose him.

And she can't let go.

Roland whispers again when Robin shifts a little in his sleep. "I'm here," he promises, kissing his father's cheek.

_I'm here_.


	5. A Request

_**Prompt: A Request**_

* * *

Teaching Henry to ride a bike had been a true test of patience, and one she hadn't always passed, frustrated with herself more than anything, because she wished she could just make it happen for him. Henry's irritation had only exacerbated her own, and it had been an interesting few weeks, filled with communal tears, laughter, and triumph.

But she'd assumed after Henry, that would be it. No need to show anyone else.

On a spring day at the park, though, everything changes. She's having a quiet, romantic picnic lunch with Robin when he narrows his eyes, pointing at someone near them.

"I keep meaning to ask…what _is _that, exactly?"

Turning her head, Regina smiles softly, then looks back at him. "A bicycle. Henry and I used to ride them through this park sometimes. It's been a while."

"It can't be all that difficult to learn, can it? Is it something you and I could do together?"

Her lips part slightly as she considers how to approach the question, not sure if she wants to commit herself to teaching him. He seems to have a lot of patience, but it's hard to know how he'll react when he doesn't get it right away, and she'd prefer not to invite that kind of potential discord into their relationship now, not after everything they've been through.

But he looks so _eager _and hopeful. Damn him.

"It...can take a little while." It would be easy with magic, but she's not going to offer, she knows better.

He hums with a dimpled smile, leaning in to kiss her lips. "Well, I can't imagine a better teacher, love."

She rolls her eyes, but steals another kiss. He flatters her so much, and she loves it. "Most people don't get the hang of it on the first try. Or even the second."

"We'll find out soon. Tomorrow?"

Taking a deep breath, she finally nods in agreement, then just shifts her focus back to their picnic lunch, delighting in their shared kisses, and the chocolate covered strawberries they end up feeding each other.

The first week, Robin's lessons go relatively well; he doesn't get too impatient, but he's fallen off his bike so many times, she's so glad she forced him to wear his helmet. When it's clear he's hit his threshold for today, taking yet another tumble and scraping up his knees, Regina just helps him up, leading him over to the grass and sitting with him beneath the willow tree.

"It's more difficult than I'd imagined," he confesses, just _slightly _breathless, wiping the sweat from his brow, and then glancing at his bloodied knees. "I'm quite good at injuring myself, though."

"At least it hasn't been anything serious," she says, just slightly concerned, because she's half-worried one of these times he'll hit a bump in the sidewalk and go flying, incurring far worse than scraped knees.

Pushing his head to her shoulder, her fingers rake through the hair at the base of his neck for a moment, and then she bends, kissing both of those knees while waving her fingers over them, healing them right up.

There's a soft huff from him as he reaches out to pull her closer to him, kissing her lips. "I didn't need the magic. Just your kisses suffice, love. Every time."

"I don't like seeing you hurt," she counters, kissing him again.

Every time they kiss, his fingers _always _make their way through her hair, stroking tenderly, the touch concurrently soothing and thrilling, because it's so often a prelude to making love. They're out here in the open, though, so that's not a possibility at the moment, but his shoulders are sagging a bit, a heaviness to his limbs that tells her, without even needing to ask, he's depleted for today.

"Come home with me and take a shower," Regina suggests.

"Would taking a shower need to be a solitary venture?" He raises an eyebrow, trying to be coy.

"I think you're capable of washing your back, Robin." Oh, but she _fully _intends to do it for him, he just doesn't get an affirmative _that _easily.

"I am. But you do it so much better."

"Oh?"

"Well," he smiles, tugging her hand to his lips, dragging slow kisses across her knuckles. "The strangest thing happens when you assist me, I tend to come out of the shower feeling invigorated. I can't be certain _why_ exactly, though it _might _have something to do with those kisses you lavish upon me."

"It's not as fun if you're expecting them," she breathes out softly, breath taken away when he kisses her knuckles.

"I _always _return the favor. And then some."

Maintaining her composure outwardly - though she's sure her cheeks must be flushed - Regina smiles and stands up, tugging him with her. "Why waste anymore time?"

Another three weeks go by, and their routine is consistent; he'll start to ride a little, then waver, or fall, sometimes scraping his knees. It's never anything more serious than that, thankfully, but the last few days, she's started to get skeptical. He seems to pick up on everything else quite well, and though riding a bike is a skill much harder to teach than simply lighting up a gas stove, she's puzzled as to why he hasn't caught on a bit more yet.

But then, after another day passes, he reveals his true motives.

It's lightly drizzling, making the sidewalk slick, and as always, he rides steady for about 30 seconds, then pitches forward, tumbling off his bike and scraping his knees.

He stands up, brushing off some of the wet grass, and smiles at her. "I do believe I'm in need of a few kisses…"

He's never said that, she just always does it. And then she thinks about the way he pitched forward, the way the bike moved with him as he tugged the handlebars, almost like it was deliberate, and her mouth falls open, a scowl on her face.

"You...you _know _how to ride that bike, Robin Hood. When did you get the hang of it?"

He's been caught, and she can almost see him stiffen even with the distance between them. His eyes widen, and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out for a moment. Then - _damn him _\- he smiles sheepishly, dimples on full display.

"A few days ago," he admits, biting his lip. "I'm sorry, I _know _I should have told you, but I've simply come to enjoy those kisses quite a bit."

"You get kisses _all the time_."

He steps forward, cupping his hand to her cheek, and she stiffens, still irritated, but his lips press to hers. "I enjoy those showers after each lesson, where I get to thoroughly adore you. I suppose I was sad to give it all up. Can you forgive me?"

She takes a deep breath, wanting him to know she's not happy about being deceived; it's a minor thing, though, and not malicious, and she'll get over it. It could be helped along a little, though.

"I think you could make it up to me," she purses her lips with a knowing smirk.


	6. A Kiss Below the Waist

**_Prompt: A Kiss Below the Waist_**

Thanks to some lovely people for reading this over and helping me feel less worried about my smut writing: Em, Jess, and Kiki. Y'all are the best. Hope you enjoy!

And yes: this is just straight up smut, just so you know before reading. ;)

* * *

They don't bother sleeping with their clothes on. Regina and Robin are both generally up early enough to make breakfast (both of them alternating the duty everyday), and the boys are surprisingly diligent when it comes to getting up in the morning on school days. On weekends, though, the four of them all tend to stay in bed an extra hour or two, enjoying the unhurried hours, taking their time to shuffle into waking.

It's a Saturday, and Robin silently thanks the sun for being gentle as it peeks in through the bedroom window. He slept well, but it's those first few seconds when he has to lift his eyes open that tend to drag on a bit. The sight of his love's supine form stretched beneath him compels his eyes open further. He has to take her in, watch the way the sun seems to favor her with its warm and gentle dance, shimmering through the drape.

Her inhales and exhales are a familiar rhythm to him now, and he's taken to measuring time by the pause between her breaths.

His fingers push at the sheet and blanket covering their bodies, taking his time to unveil her form to him, lips pressing feather light kisses to the pulse thumping a slow, but steady beat at her neck. Then, he moves to press a tender sentiment against her chest where he knows her heart to be: _I'm meant to love you_.

She is a treasure to behold, and happiness incarnate.

Lifting his head, he happens to catch her lips parting, his name a whisper on the edge of an exhale while she slumbers. Smiling at his triumph, Robin continues downward, one hand anchored to her hip as he carries out his expedition, marking random places on her skin with his lips and vows of love, tattooing her in silence so she can carry those promises with her from dreams to waking; so she might never forget, or doubt.

Her left hand twitches slightly and he ceases his movements, not actually wanting her to wake _yet_. One moment passes, then another, and another, and she continues to slumber, so he bends carefully, lips at her inner thighs now, fingers stroking over her kneecap as he indulges, kissing her outer folds.

No movement yet.

Grinning, his tongue dips into her now with a slow, luxurious pace, savoring the warmth, the pleasure at discovering more of her as he presses in further. He's rewarded at last with the sound he craves most, that whimper building from a slight sound to a crescendo as he takes his time edging her closer to release. He can _feel _her waking up at the tip of his tongue, imagines her nerves set alight with tingles and soft fires as they move together now. Her groans are louder, her right hand tugging at his hair as she spreads her legs wider.

"_Robin_…"

His name is wrapped up with heat and huskiness, her voice like dry earth being soaked and soothed by rain, surprised and grateful as she breathes his name again. She only needs to say one word, just his _name_, and he knows what she wants: go faster, press harder, _don't ever stop_.

He makes his promise with a firm, clockwise circle round and round her clit: _I never will. _

Her legs wrap around his upper body - they always have to be wrapped up together as much as they can be - as her hips move up and down, up and down, and he can feel her gasping softly for breath, the struggle all the more difficult because she has to tame her ecstasy; she can't cry out loudly while the children sleep down the hall. But there's something even more thrilling about it, how careful they need to be.

With expert precision, he pushes his tongue up against that spot, where he can feel her throbbing now, and he's rewarded with a sharp cry of his name that immediately gets muffled. She's dripping wet, and he pulls back just to catch his breath, giving her a moment as well before he seeks the taste of her again, licking her up, indulging himself while his fingers trace up thigh to her hips. A few minutes pass, and her hips continue to jerk with residual pleasure until he's satiated, slowly kissing his way back up the length of her body.

He comes to rest flat on his back, tugging her over the top of him, needing her in his arms as they kiss, over and over.

Finally, she pulls back with a languid smile: "Good morning."

"Oh, _quite _good," he grins back at her, two fingers pushing errant strands of hair away from her eyes.

"I was hoping to sleep in." She raises an eyebrow, and her twitching lips belie the seriousness of her tone.

"I simply...couldn't help myself," he shrugs with a soft smirk, his hand now curving to rest against the back of her head, coaxing her closer for another kiss.

When she hums against his mouth and glides her tongue over his lower lip, he relaxes even more, parting his lips to grant her entrance, their tongues tangling together in a dance all their own. Her hand moves up and down his chest until she pulls back, cradling his cheek.

"I forgive you. _This _time."

Pouting, he queries, "Shall I never do that again?"

Swatting him playfully, Regina follows it up with a soft kiss to his lips. "It was...a _very _good way to wake up."

She's woken _him _up like that before, and he's wanted to reciprocate for quite some time. This morning seemed to afford him the perfect opportunity, and he's glad she enjoyed it, in love with the look in her eyes, the latent arousal still there.

"What time is it?" She asks, yawning.

"Not quite 7:30."

She huffs a little, tucking her head to his chest and laying perfectly on top of him. "The boys won't be up until 9:00, at least."

"Still sleepy, my love?" He smiles, carding his fingers through her hair until he can feel her limbs getting heavier.

"Mhmm," she mumbles, stroking her fingers up and down his arm.

His lips press to her forehead, his thumb moving over her temple now, knowing she's not long for consciousness when he does that. "Go back to sleep, love," he whispers, caressing in that spot until her hand starts to slow against his arm, jerking slightly as she begins to drift. And then just a few minutes later, the movement stops completely as she falls back to sleep, her ear pressed over his heart, his arms protectively around her. He hopes she can hear his heart whispering her name over and over again as he follows her into dreams.


	7. A Cute Kiss

_Prompt: A Cute Kiss (Missing Year)_

Thank you all SO MUCH for the lovely feedback so far, hope you enjoy this one!

* * *

She fell asleep in the library yesterday, reading to Roland. Her head was tilted at an odd angle, and she wouldn't possibly have slept well were it not for him carrying her to her chambers and tucking her into her own bed. Truthfully, he hadn't quite wanted to let her go, finding her weight in his arms to be comfortable, desirable.

They haven't spoken of it, and though Robin doesn't generally care about withholding his opinions from her, he's maintained a respectable distance today, knowing her acerbic tone is sure to follow just about anything he says, and at times he simply wearies of it.

Shortly after lunch, Roland insists on joining the Queen when she declares her intent to spend the rest of the afternoon by the lake, reading a book. It's rare for her to leave the castle, to deviate from her intense focus on defeating the Wicked Witch, but the past few weeks have been quiet and perhaps she sees the wisdom in allowing herself some respite. He's certainly glad for it, both for her sake and his own; if she can unwind a bit, maybe she won't be quite as surly, at least for a little while.

Regina agrees to allow the company, though he can tell by her tight and twitching jaw that she's not _happy _about it, because that means he'll be with them, and he's not blind to the fact she'd much prefer having just Roland along with her.

It's absurd, this affection he harbors for her despite her ostensible loathing of him. But _every once in a while_, there's a glimpse of a gentler, more tender disposition, afraid and unwilling to peek out often, and those rare glimpses are precisely what beget his steadfast loyalty to her. In turn, it's his loyalty that seems to incite her ire even further, so he wonders if he's fighting a losing battle just by trying to show her that others _do _care.

Maybe one day he'll desist, but today is _not _one of those days.

"I won't get in the way," Robin tells her, hoping to assuage the burgeoning irritation already on display in her eyes.

"It's fine, you're his father," Regina assures him, her words stunted and stiff as they leave her lips - _those exquisite lips that must be like honey to taste _\- and she levels an insincere smile at him. "I enjoy his company, and if that means enduring an afternoon with _you_ as well, then so be it."

As often happens, before he can even return the favor in kind with a carefully worded retort, Regina turns on her heel and leaves, heading towards her chambers to gather her things, he assumes.

They meet in the gardens only ten minutes later, Robin toting Roland on his back, with a satchel slung on his arm, filled with a book, some bread, cheese, and fruit, and a small blanket. It's warm outside, not terribly so, but best to be prepared, he thinks.

"It's a short walk, over that hill," Regina points, and without any further preamble, she leads the way.

Their nearly silent journey is punctuated with enthusiastic chatter from Roland as he points out a flock of birds overhead, a stray deer that gets spooked and darts off into the woods, and then a giant tree he wants to climb later.

"We'll see, my boy. It's been a long while since I climbed a tree _quite _that high." He turns his head slightly to smile at his son. "My bones aren't what they used to be." He's teasing a bit, because he knows he could manage it.

"_Old_, papa," Roland laughs softly, reaching out to run his fingers through his father's hair, not hesitating to point out the cluster of grey he finds, though he's affectionate about it, indulging Robin with a kiss to assure him he's _not _old.

Regina's pace slows enough now that she's nearly beside them. Her head is tilted up slightly, a measured gaze upon him as she joins in the conversation, "_You _can't manage _that _tree? There's nothing to it."

An eyebrow gets raised in response as he looks at her. "Oh? Then I suppose you could climb it with ease? _Without _magic?"

Rolling her eyes, she mutters, "Oh, please, I wouldn't waste my magic on something so simple."

"Well, then, we ought to put this to a test, I think. Wouldn't you agree, Roland?"

He can feel his boy nodding his head against his shoulder, and Robin levels a playfully smug smile at Regina.

Her eyes sharply narrow at him, steely enough that he can nearly feel the annoyance boiling the blood in her veins, but likely for Roland's sake, her response is tamer than he's sure she wants it to be as she grunts out, "Fine. Let's do this now, and then I can actually _enjoy _the rest of my afternoon."

He's sure she must be thinking this is juvenile and an absolute waste of her time, but he hopes that in sharing a more carefree activity with him, it will ease some of the tension so palpable and seemingly insurmountable between them. If she has a chance to just have _fun_ and laugh with him, maybe they can start to find their footing towards friendship.

He can hope, at least.

Setting Roland down on the grass carefully, along with his satchel, Robin ruffles his son's hair. "Do you think I'll win, love?"

Roland shakes his head, though, walking over to Regina and holding her hand for a moment as he smiles and declares, "Regina!"

The look on her face suddenly takes Robin's breath away; the instant Roland affirms his belief that Regina will be victorious today, there's this spark of soft light - disbelief and hopefulness dueling - that spreads to her cheeks, curving them back just a touch, and then it lands on her lips, lifting them upwards in a smile that seems afraid to exist for as much as it shakes, but it remains for a moment as she kneels in front of Roland, tapping his nose.

"_Someone _has to beat him, right? We can't let his head get too big."

He's not sure if Roland really understands what that means, but his boy smiles and nods at her, because of _course _he would agree, he's utterly mad about Regina, absolutely in love with her, and some days Robin can't fathom why.

On other days, it's frustratingly clear, because he feels the same. It's not because she snaps at him, glares at him, tells him to go away; it's because of moments _like this_, when she stands upright again and looks back at him, letting him see the tremulous smile she's managed to hold onto despite the fear he knows she has that if she lets herself have a glimpse of happiness, it will go away like everything else.

Robin rolls up his sleeves, not missing the immediate falter of her smile, and the way she stiffly marches towards the tree, although she's holding Roland's hand the entire time, and the contrast between her annoyance with him and her affection for his son is maddening.

It's happened before, though, whenever he's rolled up his sleeves, and the only theory he has is that she finds some displeasure with his tattoo. He questioned her once, and she didn't deny it, but he's yet to ascertain more than that.

He has no desire to question her about it today, though, and simply follows her towards the tree, reminding Roland to stay close to them and not to wander while they climb. He already knows Regina will win, and he doesn't care, just the act of doing this with her at all makes it all worth it.

As it turns out, she does begin to relax, and he catches the hint of a smirk when a skinny tree branch smacks her in the face, and she looks down at Roland, whose laughter carries up to them. She's doing this for him, Robin realizes, and that makes his heart ache with fondness.

She's barefoot and wearing a simple tunic and trousers, and he thinks she's never looked more beautiful than she is now, with that faint flush from the afternoon sun, and her tiny laugh filling the air with song.

He keeps pace with her, glancing down at Roland now and then to be sure his boy is still right there, and safe, and his dimpled smile suspends time, keeping them all tucked into this perfect _second _where happiness is - and always should be - laughter dancing on the wind, love loud and forever in the heart of his son, and a whisper of something beginning, there in the thinning shadows of Regina's eyes.

She beats him up to the highest feasible branch to perch on, but he's only a few paces behind her, and he laughs triumphantly when he makes it to the top, just glad to have made it at all. He thinks of his body as being in relatively good condition, but climbing a rather large tree at such a swift pace taxes his muscles in a way they haven't been for quite some time. He'll be aching tomorrow, he knows, but Regina is _smiling_ with clear satisfaction and timorous joy, Roland is clapping and shouting his happiness up to them.

Robin glances at her again and they hold each other's gaze for a long moment before both of them begin to make their way down, going a bit slower now.

It's when they're nearly to the bottom that Robin hears a startled sound from his left, turning his head only too late as Regina slips on the tree branch and falls to the ground. He can hear Roland crying out, "Papa, she's hurt!"

Relieved that Roland hadn't been injured when Regina fell, there's now a surge of fear in him solely focused on Regina and her well-being, as he hurries down the last few branches and jumps to the ground, kneeling beside her.

"I'll be _fine_," she insists, but she's a little pale - probably just the shock and fear - and her arm is bent at an odd angle. As he looks closer, he can tell the bone is twisted out of alignment, and his eyes darken with concern.

"You've broken your arm, Regina," he murmurs, and then notices her ankle's hit a rock roughly, a large bruise already forming. "I'll carry you back to the castle."

He's already reaching out to lift her, but Regina immediately stiffens. "I don't need _you _to carry me, I can use my magic…" But her words are slurring a bit and she trails off, causing Robin's heart to pound heavy in his chest.

"You'll have to just forgive me," he declares, lifting her anyway, alarmed when her head lolls against his chest and she goes limp in his arms. Before he can even say anything to Roland, his son's grabbed their satchel, looking so much older than he really is, dutifully standing by his father.

"She'll be alright, Roland," Robin tries to assure him, his heart breaking further to see tears threatening in his son's eyes.

Fighting his own guilt, they make their way back to the castle swiftly, and a doctor is fetched to look her over not long after Robin gets her tucked into her own bed. She hasn't yet woken fully, but as he lays her down and her arm gets jostled, her whimper of pain is almost a relief because it means she hasn't slipped deeper into unconsciousness.

Refusing to leave her side, Robin listens as the doctor tells them that she'll need to be watched closely for the next day or two with her head injury, but he gets her arm set in a sling, her ankle wrapped, and that should do for healing both.

After he leaves, Robin perches on the edge of her bed, reaching out to stroke her hair, unable to help himself. He needs to touch her as an affirmation that she's here, she's going to be alright, and it could have been far worse.

"Robin…" Her eyes blink open - far too slow for his liking - tension and confusion in her features as she holds his gaze.

"I'm so sorry, I…"

She squeezes his hand, shaking her head, but he finishes his thought, "I shouldn't have come, I should have let it be just you and Roland for the afternoon."

She shakes her head again, and the movement clearly pains her as her eyes close tightly for a second before she reopens them to half-mast. "I wanted you with us," she murmurs softly, surprising him with the admission.

The anger he would have expected is nowhere to be found, and perhaps it's simply because she's only half-conscious and in quite a bit of pain, perhaps it's waiting for him tomorrow, but he doesn't care at all if it means he has this moment to cherish, when she focuses on him with a look approaching tenderness, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek for a moment before falling away.

"No more climbing trees, I think," he chuckles softly, stroking her hair gently away from her brow.

"Afraid of being beaten again?" A slight smirk plays on her lips as she teases him, her eyes drifting closed again.

"Terrified," he teases, but there's truth to his words; he _was _terrified, and the fear is receding slowly, but still has a grip on his heart.

He's not sure what compels his next action, other than the thought that in an instant she could have hit her head on a rock and taken her last breath right there on the hill overlooking the castle, with no firm knowledge of how deeply she's cared for by him. He's risking quite a lot, but it's worth it to him as he leans forward and presses a kiss so light to her lips that it's hardly a whisper.

She smiles just slightly, and then her face relaxes in sleep, allowing him the chance to see the softness she wouldn't usually abide in anyone's company. Pulling back, he gets himself comfortable in a chair next to her bed, just holding her hand as he keeps watch, comforted by the even rhythm of her breathing.


End file.
